


call me

by brahe



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Voice Kink, idk yall thats p much it, so i guess that makes it a pwp, there's not much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: "Hello, dear,” Michael says as soon as Allen picks up. Allen smiles, already feels his stress start to fade away. “How’ve you been, how's your day?”Allen sighs, heavy and deep. "Better now," he says, which makes Michael laugh, a faint, happy sound. And then, "I miss you,” he says, and he didn’t really mean to start this conversation like that, blunt and to the point, but it’s true – it's been nearly five weeks, and this is only the second time they've talked, and he misses waking up and going to bed to Michael, misses his smile and his face, and it’s a lot, the feeling, sitting behind his heart.





	call me

**Author's Note:**

> anyways i can't believe i wrote this
> 
> this takes place in my au where allen and mimi live together but they're both hella gay (as do all my fics)
> 
> shout out to the discord server folks for letting me yell at them, y'all the best
> 
> title from the blondie song

It's two weeks before Allen hears from Michael, and it's late, but Allen's still sitting in his office.

The phone ring cuts through the haze he'd fallen into, and he jerks in his chair before reaching for the phone, picking it up with a distracted, “Hello?”

“I'm glad you're still awake,” Michael says, warm and low and rough, drawing all Allen's attention, and he can hear the soft smile in it, imagines the slow blinking that goes with it, all such trademarks of Michael, content and relaxed. “This is the first time I've had enough free time before two or three AM eastern time,” he tells him. 

_ I'm glad to hear your voice,  _ Allen thinks, but says instead, “How's it going?”

“Fine,” Michael says, then a long exhale. “It's nice to be in the air again, even if it's never very long. The new recruits aren't doing too bad, either. Just a lot of very long days. I'm starting to miss my bed already,” Michael says with a soft laugh. Allen looks at the doorway to his office, pictures the bedroom just down the hall, the way Michael's hair looks in the morning. 

“And you,” he adds, and Allen tightens his hand on the receiver.

“I'm – me, too. I'm happy you called.” There's a pause, nothing but the twin sounds of their breathing on the line, and it's a strange kind of comforting. “How long do you think it'll be?”

“Probably another two weeks at least,” Michael tells him. “So don't do anything too exciting without me.”

“Oh, you've got nothing to worry about there,” Allen tells him. “Now that Mimi knows she's got me here for at least a few weeks, she's had me doing things non-stop.”

There's ruffling over the phone from Michael's end, and then, “Like what?”

“Just odds and ends around the house, mostly,” Allen says, leaning back in his chair. “The stove was on the fritz, so I took at look at that, and I had to fix the kitchen drain again.”

“I didn't know you knew anything like that,” Michael says, and Allen shrugs even though he can't see it.

“I've picked some things up,” he says, and Michael laughs. “I also got Joel a telescope, so we've been going out after dinner most nights with that.”

“Oh, I bet he loves that,” Michael says, voice so full of affection, and Allen can practically see the smile on his face. “I know I would.”

“Well, when you get back, I can take you out.”

“Yeah? Take me somewhere nice outside of town, nothing but you and me and the stars.”

Allen hums softly, picturing it: he'd tell Michael about each planet as they went, show him his favorite stars, and Michael's face would get that soft, open look Allen adores, and Michael would kiss him against the trunk of the car, and –

“You there?”

“Yeah – yes, sorry,” Allen says, coming back to the present. “Just…lost in thought.”

“About me, I hope,” Michael jokes.

“Actually –” Allen starts. 

“Wait, really?” Michael asks, cutting him off, and he sounds almost excited. Allen can feel his face warming.

“Yes, really,” he admits. “What else would it be?”

“I – I don't know,” Michael says, surprised. “I just…wasn't expecting that.”

“Well, it's true,” Allen tells him. “I'm glad you called. It's good to hear from you.”

Michael's laughter is soft and quiet through the phone. “Getting a little worried about me, dear?”

“I don't know if I'd say worried,” Allen says. “Maybe more of just… I miss you? I know it's only been two weeks but – I miss falling asleep with you and being held by you and I miss your voice and…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Michael sighs, once Allen's trailed off, and it's low and deep, and Allen rests his elbows on his desk, rubs at his face. “I miss you, too.”

Allen inhales, a sharp sound, and maybe it's a little shaky. “Sorry, I –”

“Don't apologize,” Michael tells him, quick, and his tone leaves no room for arguing. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Michael,” Allen reassures, “I'm just – it's late and I'm tired and – and I  _ miss  _ you, I haven't been sleeping very well, and I –”

“Babe, babe, it's okay,” Michael hushes him, voice a low rumble in his ear. “I'm sorry I can't call more, I miss you, too.” He pauses, and Allen times his breathing to match Michael's. “Are you in bed yet?” Michael asks. “You're probably still at your desk, aren't you.”

“Ah, yes, I'm still in my office.”

“Go to bed, hon,” Michael tells him. “At least get  _ in  _ bed.”

“I…alright,” Allen says, getting up from his chair. “You'll stay on the line?”

“‘Course,” Michael tells him. “Now go.”

Allen gets himself ready for bed, then, brushing his teeth and pulling on his pajamas, and his exhaustion has caught up with him by the time he's sliding under his sheets and picking up the bedside receiver.

“In bed?” Michael asks, and Allen settles against his pillow.

“In bed,” he agrees. “It feels weird, now,” Allen admits, “so many nights in a row without you.”

“I know, babe, it's weird for me, too,” Michael agrees. “I wish was there, wish I could hold you,” Michael tells him, and Allen hums in agreement, imagining the warmth of Michael's body at his back, the comforting, now-familiar weight of Michael's arm over his waist.

“You still awake?” Michael asks, when it's been a few minutes, and Allen hums again.

“Yeah, I'm still awake. Just thinking about you again,” he says, and Michael's answering laugh is soft, the sound washing over Allen.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Allen agrees. “Thinking about you here, your arm around my waist…”

Michael can tell Allen's getting tired, now, his voice slow and words half-enunciated, and he smiles into the receiver, picturing him warm and soft and sleepy.

“I'd press my nose to the back of your neck, the way that always makes you scrunch your shoulders up,” Michael tells him. “Get my hand up under those ridiculous pajamas you always wear, rub circles into your skin.”

“You think my pajamas are ridiculous?” Allen asks, cracking an eye open.  _ When had he closed them?  _

“Little bit, babe,” Michael admits. “I'd like it better if you didn't wear so much.”

“I see,” Allen says, then yawns. “You just want me for my body.”

“You got me,” Michael laughs. “I love you.”

“Mm, love you, too,” Allen tells him. “I'm probably going to fall asleep, but – but can you stay on?” he asks. “I just want to listen to you.”

“Yeah, ‘course, sweetheart,” Michael tells him, and then it's quiet, just the twin sounds of their breathing – Michael can tell when Allen falls asleep, not even ten minutes later, his breathing evening out, and he smiles, tells him, “Sweet dreams, Allen,” before hanging up.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Hello, dear,” Michael says as soon as Allen picks up. Allen smiles, already feels his stress start to fade away. “How’ve you been, how's your day?” 

Allen sighs, heavy and deep. "Better now," he says, which makes Michael laugh, a faint, happy sound. And then, "I miss you,” he says, and he didn’t really mean to start this conversation like that, blunt and to the point, but it’s true – it's been nearly five weeks, and this is only the second time they've talked, and he misses waking up and going to bed to Michael, misses his smile and his face, and it’s a lot, the feeling, sitting behind his heart.

“I miss you too, hon," Michael says, and Allen can hear the smile in his voice. He sits back against his pillows, holding the phone close to his ear, hears Michael’s breathing, deep and slow. “Are you okay?” Michael asks, concern coloring his tone just a bit. 

“I’m okay,” Allen tells him, lets out a breath. "Just – talk to me. Please. I want to hear your voice."

"What do you want to hear?" Michael asks, and then he drops his voice the way he knows turns Allen on, lets it get rough. "That I wish I was there to kiss you senseless, that I wish I could hold you, touch you, press you into the mattress?"

And maybe it’s a shift in the conversation, but

Allen inhales, a quick, sharp sound, says, " _ Michael _ ," quiet and already breathless, hand tightening on the receiver. Michael keeps going.

"I miss holding your hand, I miss your mouth, I miss your body under mine, the way you respond so well to me," Michael tells him, and Allen's breathing is so shaky over the line, punctuated with little, barely there moans.

“Michael,” Allen repeats, halfway to a whine. 

“ _ God _ , I miss you so much,” Michael admits, and he sounds a little desperate. “I wanna see you, I wanna touch you, I wanna get my hands on you, wanna undo your shirt, take my time button by button, run my hands over your skin, always so soft and warm. I wanna push your shirt off your shoulders and kiss you crazy, kiss you until you do that thing where you grab onto my arms because your knees go weak, until your lips are red and swollen, wanna run my hands through your hair until I get those curls I love, those soft full ringlets that’re just so easy to hold on to, to tug on, to twist my hands in. I wanna sit on the edge of the bed and pull you down onto my lap, wanna suck a hickey on your collarbone you'd see in the mirror every morning and every night for a week.”

Allen's so turned on it hurts, he’s shaky and gasping, skin too hot, too tight; he uses his free hand to trace Michael’s path, lets his eyes close as he imagines the picture Michael’s painting, and at some point he's started a litany of Michael’s name, breathy whispers over and over.

“Tell me what you're doing, what you're thinking,” Michael says, and  _ god _ his voice is sin, dripping in arousal. It takes Allen a moment to get himself together enough to answer – he takes a deep breath, and he’s not surprised at how absolutely wrecked he sounds when he starts talking. 

“I'm imagining everything you're saying, I'm following along, I – I unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off, I keep running a hand through my hair, pulling on it just a little bit, I – god, Michael, I'm so turned on, I miss you so much, I’m –  _ mmm _ ,” he cuts off on a moan, brushing the back of his hand over his dick, mostly on accident, but it feels so damn good that he does it again and again, harder, until he caves, pressing down and twisting with the heel of his hand, the pressure so good, so intense. 

“Baby, baby,” Michael’s calling him, breaking through the haze of pleasure. “Tell me what you're doing, I wanna – I wanna see, I wanna know.”

“I'm thinking about you,” Allen tells him, “I'm –” he breaks off with another moan when he twists his hand against his dick, and Michael echos him, quieter.

“You're touching yourself,” he says, and Allen gasps a  _ yes. _

“God, I can tell, with all those noises you're making, always so responsive, all your little sounds – are you still dressed?”

“I still have – pants – on,” Allen tells him, broken up by little moans as he keeps working his hand.

“Take them off,” Michael tells him, “take them off, wrap your hand around your cock, I wanna hear you.”

Allen does, holding the phone with his shoulder as he wiggles his pants off, collapses back against the pillows as he compiles with the rest of Michael’s direction, curling his fingers around his dick, though not quite tight enough to be what he really wants.

“Keep – keep talking,” Allen tells him. “Tell me what to do, I want –” He whines, high in his throat, with the twist of his hand and with his desire for Michael, with how badly he wishes he were here, that it was  _ his _ hand, his body.

“Easy, sweetheart, easy” Michael says, low and rough and so turned on, and it makes Allen whine again, eyes fluttering closed. “You're already so far gone, aren't you,” he says. “Have you been thinking about this, about me?”

“Yeah – yes,” Allen admits, “dreams, I – I had a dream about you, about…” he trails off, losing track as he shifts his hand, torturously slow up and down movements, the way Michael always does it when he’s taking his time, the way Allen always likes best.

“About what?” Michael asks. “About my voice in your ear, about my hands on your body, about my mouth on you? I'd kiss you until you can't breathe, kiss down your body while you try to catch your breath, suck marks on your neck, down your chest, the insides of your thighs – oh, you'd be shaking for me, wouldn't you, head tilted back into the pillow, giving me all those little noises I love,” Michael says. “God, you'd be so hard for me when I finally get my mouth on you – just like you are now, am I right?”

“Michael,  _ please _ ,” Allen gasps, a moan quickly following, and Michael grins into the phone, twists his own hand at the sounds, at the image it conjures.

“Please what, baby, tell me what you want,” Michael says, gentle, guiding, “tell me what you want to hear.”

“You,  _ oh _ – I just want you,” Allen says, taking a gasping breath. “Are you – what are you doing?”

“Same thing as you, sweetheart,” Michael tells him. “I’m sitting on my bed, hard as hell listening to the sounds you’re making. Imagining the way you must look right now, face all flushed, chest heaving, hair a mess, hard and aching, your hand moving nice and slow in the way I know you like so much, twisting off the top.”

Allen moans, and Michael speeds up his hand, Allen's noises in his ear almost as good as the real thing.

“Mm –  _ Michael _ , I'm –”

“You're so close already, I know, sweetheart, me too,” Michael says. “Move your hand a little faster, tighten your grip a little,” he tells Allen, following along himself. Allen complies, sucking in a breath, sudden and sharp, as he tightens his hand, finally the pressure he's been waiting for – he whines, and he's  _ so close,  _ just –

“Come on, babe,” Michael tells him, “let me hear you.” And that's it, Allen's over the edge and crashing down with a long moan, body limp on the mattress, panting into the phone. He hears Michael follow him, the sharp intake of breath he always does, and they lay there for a minute or two, just listening to each other breathe.

“Mm, you there?” Michael asks him after a while, and Allen hums back.

“Yeah,” he says. “That was…good.”

“That was  _ great _ ,” Michael agrees. “We should definitely do that again.”

His voice before has nothing on what it sounds like now – Allen's always liked the way he gets gravely and deep after he comes, and through the phone it's just amplified.

“When are you coming back?” Allen asks, and Michael laughs, though it's quiet, more like an exhale.

“You're really gonna make me think after such a good orgasm?” he says. “Guess the phone sex doesn't work as good for shutting your brain off.”

“I just want to see you,” Allen tells him. “Especially now.”

“Maybe we'll take some pictures the next time we're together,” Michael says. “Something nice, just for us.”

Allen pictures it – Michael through the lens of his camera, a set of black and whites of him sprawled on the sheets, lost in pleasure, post-orgasm hazy; Allen imagines the look on his face in each, his body, his touch – and his dick twitches at the thoughts, a valiant effort. 

“I think we should,” Allen agrees. “I want a picture of the face you always make when I tell you I'm gonna suck you off.”

Michael makes a sound like he's choked on something. “Jesus, babe, warn a guy,” he says, and Allen grins into the phone. “If we're playing that way,” Michael adds, “I want a picture of the look you get after you come.”

“I don't think go again this soon, but if you keep talking I just might,” Allen admits, and Michael laughs, quiet but content. “I'll buy some film.” 

“Sounds like a great idea to me.”

“When are you done?” he asks, again, and his eyes close when Michael starts talking. 

“Hopefully soon,” Michael says, and Allen can hear the soft smile in his voice. “Everything's going really smoothly, so it'll probably only be another week or so. I'll be home before you know it.”

“Hm, I hope so,” Allen says. “I miss sharing the bed.”

“Me, too,” Michael agrees. “You're always so warm, it's nice,” he says. “And sleepy. You're about to fall asleep on me again, aren't you?”

Allen yawns, then, and Michael laughs. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Get some sleep, hon.”

“You, too,” Allen tells him. “Come home sooner. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Michael says. “Sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Allen says, drawn out and slow, so tired.

“I’ll see you soon.”

 


End file.
